


Something's Wrong

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: - serial killers not demons, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drop Out John, Drop Out Sherlock, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Missing Persons, University Student John, University Student Sherlock, Younger John, Younger Mycroft, Younger Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock and Mycroft's mother is taken by a tragic fire in Sherlock's nursery, their father goes on a journey to find what killed her… or rather who.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something's Wrong

_Northwood, London._

Violet smiled as she carried her eldest up the stairs.

"I was enjoying my book, Mummy."

"I know, Mycie, but it's time for bed for little boys."

He pouted. "I'm not little. I'm 7."

She placed him on the floor at the door to one of the bedrooms, running her hand through his auburn hair. "Now say goodnight to little Lockie."

"See, how can he be little and me be little."

"You're far too clever for your own good."

She smiled as Mycroft poked his tongue out and rushed across the room, he leant over the wooden crib and smiled down at his little brother. Sherlock had been kicking absently staring at the stars on the night light hanging from the ceiling, he stopped thrashing when Mycroft looked in.

"Hi, Sherlock."

The little boy blew a raspberry.

"He's silly."

Violet chuckled. She leant into the crib and kissed him, her hand brushing into his deep brown curls.

Mycroft copied her, but was distracted by a voice from behind them.

"Hey, Mycie."

"Daddy!" He spun and ran to his father.

Siger lifted his eldest up in a big hug.

"You're home late, Daddy."

"Work, champ, boring work."

Mycroft grinned as he tugged at his father's tie. "Boring too."

"You'll wear one, one day, hiya love," he smiled at his wife. "What do you think about Lockie? Do you reckon he could play the violin yet?"

"No, Daddy, don't be silly!"

"Little one alright?" He asked of Violet, she had been contently looking down at the baby in the crib.

"Fiesta little fella like normal," she flicked the light off as she passed them down the hall. "You got him tonight?"

"Yeah, what do you think, Mycie, think we can manage?"

"Yeah!"

Siger smiled into Sherlock's darkened room. "Night, trouble." He then took Mycroft through to his own room; into his own bed.

"Mummy stopped me reading my book, Daddy."

"I'm sure she didn't want to, son. But little boys do have to go to bed when it gets dark."

Mycroft snuggled down into his duvet. "I want to be big and strong and stay up all night."

Siger chuckled as he tucked in the quilt. "Not even big strong men can stay up all night."

"I will one day! All night long! And then I'll have bacon for breakfast even though I haven't been asleep."

The eldest Holmes headed to the door, he flipped the light switch. "Night, son."

* * *

Violet woke in the early morning darkness, she rolled over and noticed the baby monitor crackling. Siger was gone from next to her. Sighing, she climbed from the bed to go and deal with Sherlock but he was already back to sleep; Siger watching over him.

"He want food?"

"Shh."

She held her hands up. "Alright." Deciding that he was due a feed anyway, she hurried down the stairs. She had to go passed the study to get to the kitchen and something caught her eye as she did.

"Siger?" He had fallen asleep, face down on the desk.

But that meant… she turned and raced up the stairs. "Lockie! Lockie!" She raced into his room and the man that had been leaning over the baby's crib turned.

* * *

At the sound of screaming coming from upstairs, Siger jolted awake.

"Honey?"

When there was no response, he raced from the room and up the stairs.

"Violet? Are the boys ok?"

He poked his head into Mycroft's room to check on him, he seemed to be stirring, but there was no sign of his wife. He checked the baby's room next, his wife wasn't there. Sherlock was crying in his crib, screaming almost painful yells as he fought for something the older man couldn't work out. He scooped him from the crib. "Where's your mummy then, eh?" As he led him from the room and into his own, there was a gush of heat from the nursery as there was another yell.

* * *

Sherlock's crying hadn't stopped and he nearly tripped over Mycroft in the hall, he'd woken groggily from his room and come out into the hall to investigate.

Siger shoved Sherlock into Mycroft's arms.

"Daddy?"

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Myc, go!"

He watched his sons briefly for a moment before returning to the nursery. Rushing into the room, he saw the cupboard door was open; Violet almost hanging out of it, fire seeming to come from her. He couldn't get very close to her as he screamed her name. He knew that that last scream would be her last and the thought made him freeze.

* * *

Outside of the manor, Mycroft ran across the grass, Sherlock crying in his arms.

"It's ok, 'Lock, it's ok," he tried to reassure his brother as he turned to find out what was happening.

Siger appeared and scooped Mycroft up even as he held tightly to Sherlock.

"I got you, boys,"

The entire nursery exploded behind them, glass shattering everywhere.

"Mummy!" Mycroft screamed.

* * *

_22 years later, Cambridge, 01:30_

There was a loud bang from downstairs and Sherlock jolted awake.

John was snoring softly next to him, God, he would sleep through a train crash if it happened on the roof.

He slipped out of bed and down the stairs, he grabbed one of John's cricket bats, the rugby ball would be of no use.

As he crept down the stairs he knew he didn't need the bat. He knew who was sat in his arm chair.

"Piss off, Mycroft."

The older man sprang from his chair and wrested the bat from his brother's grip. "At least you came armed when you heard an intruder. You didn't bare your neck for someone to slit it." He tossed the bat across the room.

"You could have knocked, brother dear."

"Would you have answered? It's also good to see you in bed for a change."

"'Lock?" Came a call from up the stairs. So much for him sleeping through a train crash.

"Go back to bed, John."

Mycroft's eyebrows rose. "John and you share a room now. How did I miss that?"

"You missed it because I found and destroyed all of your surveillance cameras and microphones." Sherlock grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

Mycroft reached below the table and pulled in a jerky movement.

"Not all of them, little brother."

"Oh, that one… yeah, I worked out how to turn it off. You only heard what I wanted you to."

Sherlock crossed the room at the sight of John. "I told you to go back to bed."

The blond crossed his arms stubbornly. "I don't think so, somehow." He jerked his head towards Mycroft. "Look at him. He's not being his normal poncy self. Something’s wrong."

"And that, John," the elder Holmes said, "is all the more reason to let me talk to my brother. Alone."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose.

"Anything you have to say you can say in front of John."

Mycroft picked up his umbrella and twirled it around for a moment. He turned and looked at the both of them head on.

"Ok. Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

"So he's working overtime at the Yard. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

"Dad's on a job. And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sherlock looked over at his boyfriend. "John, excuse us. We have to go outside."

The Holmes brothers made their way outside, Mycroft calm, Sherlock agitated. Unbeknownst to them, John snuck out around back and found a place where he could listen.

Sherlock paced. "What do you want from me, Mycroft? You show up in the middle of the night and, what? Expect me to run off with you on a job. Dad can handle his own cases. He's an experienced officer. I'm just a chemistry student."

"You're more than just a student, Sherlock. You’re the most observant person I know. Other than myself, you're the brightest." Mycroft took a step closer to his brother. "I need you to help me find him."

"He's been missing before. He's always missing and he always comes back."

"Not for this long. Now are you going to come with me or not?"

"I'm not."

"Why not?"

"I swore I was done with the jobs. For good."

"'Lock, come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad."

Sherlock turned his head away for a moment before huffing.

"When I told Dad, I was scared of the thing in my closet, he threatened me with a cell at the Yard."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Well, what was he supposed to do?"

"I was nine years old! He was supposed to say, don't be afraid of the dark."

"Don't be afraid of the dark? Are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what kind of imbeciles Dad deals with."

"I'm not coming Mycroft. I was dragged here against my will. But I have a life now. I have John."

Mycroft grabbed Sherlock by the arm. "And how are you going to protect him?"

"I don't need protecting, thank you very much," John said as he stepped out into the open. "But you will if you don't let go of him."

The older brother stepped back, straightening his jacket. "No need to ask how much you heard. You heard it all."

John frowned. "You turn up here from London after two years and want to speak to him, in the middle of the night. I know of his tendency to walk out of class and run off. I didn't put it passed him to do it in the middle of the night. Whether it was to go with you or away from you I didn't know."

"I wouldn't go without telling you, John."

"Well, you can bloody well tell me what all this is about."

Sherlock shook his head. "There's no need. I'm not going anywhere."

"Tell him, 'Lock, because you are."

"Why!" Sherlock shouted at his brother. "Dad's a copper, a good one, an obsessed one. You're a government spook. You dabble in these jobs anytime you like. I just want to study chemistry. Is that too much to ask?"

"You didn't want to be here two years ago, why do you want to be now?"

"Because it's my life. I've made do and I've done a bloody good job of it. Dad sent me here to get away from the work."

"Dad isn't here. I am. And I'm asking for your help. Please, Sherlock."

"Why this time?" Sherlock asked with frustration.

"Because even my government resources haven't been able to trace him. He's gone completely off the grid."

"Then get higher up."

"Sherlock, I'm one place from the top and I'm only 29. And I'm doing it for you! So tell your boyfriend what is going on or I'll have you both arrested and you'll come involuntarily."

Sherlock leaned back against a wall and slid down it until he was resting on the ground. He looked up at John. "Mummy didn't die of cancer when I was a baby. Someone broke into our house and murdered her. A serial killer. That's why Dad became a copper. He's obsessed with catching the person that did it. I just want to forget."

John froze for a moment. "You lied…"

"I was protecting you!"

"How?"

"Yeah, little brother, how were you protecting him?"

"Everyone you touch comes to a dirty end Mycroft so don't try to tell me I was in the wrong!"

"It was 20 years ago, how does your Dad know the killer is still alive?"

"He was convinced it was a teenager."

"And there have been similar cases," Mycroft added. "There's almost always a baby involved and there's always a fire to cover the killer's tracks."

John screwed up his face. "All in the same area. I would have heard."

"No, all over Great Britain and the rest of the world," Sherlock clarified bitterly. "I said it was an obsession."

"Dad could list every single one of them and they are in the space of about 3 years. And then it's like it's every 8 years. It goes on for another 3 and so on. I suppose we're due another…"

"That's my point, 'Lock, you have to come!"

The younger Holmes ran his hands angrily through his errant curls. "There's no one else who can help you?"

"No one as smart as you are, 'Lock."

John crouched down and rested a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. "And I'll come with you. You won't be stuck alone with Mr. Charisma, I promise."

"But John, you're studying to be a doctor..."

"You're studying, too. Cambridge isn't going anywhere. We'll come back. When we are ready."

"Those are my terms Mycroft, me and John or not at all."

The elder Holmes studied John for several long moments. Eventually, he nodded. "John, welcome to the team. Shall we take this discussion inside and I'll share with you what little I know?"

"Can you at least let us get dressed first?"

Mycroft nodded, twiddling his tie as if to make a point.

John grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled his boyfriend back to the door.

"John, you have that interview on Monday, for med school."

Mycroft spoke up. "I shall see to that. There shall be no negative repercussions, I assure you."

"That's... handy," John said with a self-deprecating laugh. "It wouldn't have mattered, though. You matter more to me than med school."

Sherlock stole a kiss. "I shouldn't."

"Yes." Kiss. "You should." Kiss.

"Boys, if you wouldn't mind…"

"Shut it, Mycroft, go and make yourself useful, put the coffee machine on or something. John's mood may be alright now but in 10 minutes without coffee, he really will be a serial killer."

Mycroft sniffed, but put the coffee on. He had kept an eye on John, he was a sharp and resourceful young man. It would be good to have him along on this endeavour. Despite Sherlock's doubts, Mycroft was certain there was indeed a serial killer to be tracked and caught. He had devoted his life to protecting his baby brother from the threat, after all, and even if this John Watson wasn't sharp (he must have been to be studying at Cambridge) he seemed to keep Sherlock in line. The most recent semester had seen Sherlock skipping less classes and actually getting 95% in papers for the last 3 months.

John came out of the bedroom first, dressed in jeans and a jumper. Mycroft smiled. How had such an ordinary seeming young man caught his brother's attention?

"John. Thank you for your offer of help. I'm afraid the situation is more serious than my brother believes."

"Wherever he goes, I go. Don't even try to split us up, Mycroft. You will not succeed."

The government official should have taken a step back, the sternness and truthfulness in John's words told him everything he needed to know, instead he nodded.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sherlock made his appearance wearing slacks and a white dress shirt, the top two buttons unfastened and his curls artfully messy.

John grabbed his curls by a hand and pulled him in for a snog.

"Mister Watson, your coffee, before you turn into a serial killer."

"There we go, John, you are the first person besides our father he has ever made coffee."

The blond took the coffee graciously and sipped it. "Good, really. But we were going to talk about more than coffee. Where do you think your father might be?"

Mycroft went and fetched a folder from beside Sherlock's chair. "This contains everything I know."

Sherlock flicked the folder open briefly going through the pages. There was 7. "This is all you've got?"

"You've never got any closer to finding him Sherlock!"

"I don't waste my time trying!"

"Maybe you should!" Mycroft snapped, before he calmed himself. "He could be dead, this time, but I refuse to believe it until I see his body."

"It was his idea to dump me here!" Sherlock snapped back. "Make your bloody mind up!"

"Oi!" All John did was raise an eyebrow.

Sherlock sighed. "I'm sorry."

John grabbed an overnight bag from the closet and headed back towards their room. "Try not to kill each other while I grab us a few things," he called over his shoulder.

Mycroft frowned, first at the retreating John and then at his brother.

"Did you just apologise, Sherlock?"

The younger brother bit his lip. "So?"

"Dad would be impressed."

"I'll deny it ever happened," Sherlock declared, crossing his arms.

"It's not a weakness, brother-mine. Many would consider it a strength."

The younger Holmes changed the subject. "I presume we start where this fire occurred."

"If it is the same pattern as the last few times, then we are 3 months early, but if we need to find Dad this is where he went."

John reappeared. "We go where he goes."

"Quite."

"We'll likely spot something your surveillance missed," Sherlock added.

Mycroft straightened his jacket compulsively. "I'm counting on it." He strode to the door and opened it. "We're wasting time. We can discuss our plans as we drive."

Sherlock's feet didn't seem to want to move, not until John took his hand and their eyes met. The moment they did, the brunette felt a sense of determination settle over him and together, they followed Mycroft into the night.

"How did you swing getting this?" Sherlock asked, smiling, at the old family car.

"I'm the British Government… near enough."

"Yeah. But it's Dad's."

"Is that a 70's Dodge?" John grinned as he appeared behind his boyfriend and looking at Mycroft. "Can I drive?"

Sherlock didn't hold his breath and was therefore most surprised when Mycroft threw his boyfriend the key. "It will give us the chance to talk," he clarified to his baby brother's surprised expression.

Sherlock knew it was the fact he secretly liked John, he wouldn't just let anyone drive his car.

John slid into the driver's seat. "Where to?"

"Portsmouth," the brothers said together.

John laughed. He started the car and, as soon as both men had joined him in the back, pulled out on the road, headed left.

"John, how do you even know the way?"

"I know it's down. We'll pick up signs from there."

Sherlock laughed. "Fair enough, so the exact spot Father was last seen?"

"On the docks."

"Why would he be there? And if he was, he could be anywhere by now."

Mycroft shook his head emphatically. "No! With your help, we'll find him. I've got an arsenal in the boot. We'll be able to deal with anyone who gets in our way. For now, get some rest."

"You know I don't need much sleep, Mycroft. I would have got up soon anyway."

"Sleep, Sherlock," John ordered with a glance in the mirror.

"You're no fun."

"Do not make me pull over, 'Lock."

The youngest member of the trio crossed his arms in a false show of defiance. When John winked at him in the mirror, Sherlock couldn't help smiling. He rested his head against the window and let himself drift off to sleep.

Mycroft actually climbed through the seats to join John in the front. He waited long enough for his little brother to be asleep before he spoke.

"How do you do it?" He asked of the younger man.

"Hmm? Do what?"

"He does what you tell him to do."

"I love him. He knows that."

"I love him too."

John laughed. "I'm sure you do, but you push all the time, don't you? I only try it with the things that matter to me and don't matter overly much to him. If it's important, I do push, but I never try it with anything he is truly passionate about."

"How did you even… meet?"

"You know this."

"I know… but he's different now, John, better. And that has to be down to you."

"I met him in the student union. He walked in, lost. I just liked his hair."

"I don't understand." Mycroft shook his head. "Why didn't he run you off like he does everyone else?"

"He tried. He did that deducing bit of his. Told me about my sister and how she'd break up with her boyfriend soon. Called me out on being gay. Knew I was studying for med school. It was amazing. Of course he was wrong about my sister."

"Really?" Mycroft sounded surprised.

"She couldn't break up with her boyfriend. Didn't have one. She broke up with her girlfriend."

Mycroft laughed. "There's always something."

"That's what he said."

"He hated the fact he'd got it wrong. Went on a rant about it for ages," John smiled at the memory. "I told him he looked cute when he was wrong. We kind of went from there."

They slipped into silence after that, John enjoying driving and Mycroft contemplating the unique young man who had so much influence over his brother. After a bit, the older man's thoughts turned to what might await them in Portsmouth.

As they pulled up at the docks it was just getting light. Mycroft leaned back and jostled his little brother.

Sherlock jerked awake.

"You could have let John wake me."

"What with a nice snog?

"Precisely," the younger Holmes pouted.

John grinned as he climbed out of the car. "Then get out here, you git, and kiss me."

"Boys. We haven't got time for this."

"Will you stop calling me a boy? I'm 22."

"And I'm 23," John added.

"You're still younger than me. Now the earlier we can work out what exactly Dad was doing here the more chance we have of finding him."

Sherlock was looking over a few terraced houses. "Would you say there was a fire in that one?"

John and Mycroft looked where he was pointing. The blond started in that direction, even as Mycroft said, "Yes. John, wait!" He moved around to the boot and opened it. Picking up a SIG, he looked at John. "You any good with guns?"

John grinned slightly.

"Dad used to take me hunting every weekend since before I can remember. Only stopped because of uni."

Sherlock grinned. "See. I picked a good one, Myc."

"Indeed." Mycroft handed John the SIG. "It's loaded."

The blond checked it anyway. "Yes, it is." He tucked it into his waistband.

The elder Holmes handed Sherlock a gun and slipped one into an inner pocket of his jacket.

"You just carry these around with you?” John asked.

"Yes. Been trying to get Sherlock to do the same."

"I'm 22. That thing in the closet when I was 9… I'm not scared of it anymore."

"It's not the imaginary things in the closet you should be afraid of. It's the very real serial killers, the desperate thieves willing to kill, the general lunatics," Mycroft explained. "You should take precautions."

"I did. I made John leave his cricket bat in the bedroom."

"He's right. He did do that."

"I have a feeling that was to protect you not himself."

John just shook his head. Looking in the direction of the burned out fire, he rolled his shoulders. "Are we ready, then?"

"Yup," Sherlock actually grinned before slipping off around the back of the row of houses. Before either John or Mycroft could catch him, he was opening the front door from the inside.

"You picked the lock," the blond hissed.

Sherlock shrugged. "Family trait."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he looked at Mycroft. "Seriously, you taught him how to break and enter, Mr. British Government?"

"No. Father did."

"I don't know whether that's better or worse," John grumbled.

"How did you think we were planning on getting in?" Mycroft asked.

"You said your Dad was a copper I was assuming he'd have clearance."

"Takes too much time." Sherlock shrugged. He waved them both in as he looked along the street to see if they were being observed.

John followed Mycroft inside. "Is this place structurally sound?"

"Do you think I'd let him B&E if it wasn't?"

"Wouldn't put it past you,” John responded.

"You have a lot to learn about me. I didn't become the British Government for kicks." He glanced at Sherlock and the younger man knew what it meant.

"That's... good." John nodded approvingly as Sherlock started crawling around on the floor. The brunette had pulled out a small magnifying glass and was looking at everything in minute detail. "Is that why you carry that thing about?"

"Can see me more than the human eye."

John burst out laughing. "I don't know what you need it for. You see more than a human anyway."

Sherlock kept crawling around until he ended up in one corner. He bent and sniffed the soot and ash, then before the other men could stop him, he dipped a finger in the mess and tasted it.

"Sherlock!" John and Mycroft called out simultaneously.

"Accelerant, but an inadequate amount to do the job."

He stood and went to the closet.

"Now what are you looking for?" John asked.

Mycroft bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment. "Our mother… Dad said she was in the closet when the nursery burnt."

Sherlock looked through it, ignoring his emotions.

"Nope, no murder here."

"How could you possibly know that?" John was stood with his hands on his hips, staring at his boyfriend.

"Look around," the brunette ordered.

John did, not seeing anything. Mycroft stood nearby with a knowing look on his face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, grabbed John's arm and pointed to key points around the room. "Look, everything is too neat. There's no sign of a struggle in here or the other rooms we came through. There's also no sign of human ash in the closet. Just tastes of normal furniture stuff. This fire isn't connected to the one in my nursery."

"Why not? Maybe there was no mother?"

"No, the family that lives here, mum, dad, 2 kids, one 6 months old, the other 5 years. If this was part of the pattern the mother would be dead. Dad must have followed the trail here on the fact the youngest was 6 months and then he's just goner realising this place is pointless."

John frowned deeply. "That doesn't mean whoever started the fire wasn't responsible for your dad's disappearance."

"Obviously." Sherlock dusted his hands together. "Mycroft, we're dealing with smugglers."

John threw his hands up not even bothering to ask how he knew that.

"But we aren't dealing with them," Sherlock decided. "We've got to find Dad."

"Sherlock, Dad came here, he knew something was up. We've got to fix this."

"Why? Because Dad said so? You came to get me to find him, well he's not here, Mycroft!"

"Sherlock, Mycroft's right." John glanced at the government official and saw a look of approval. "These people need to be stopped and we can do it."

"Listen to John," Mycroft urged.

"You didn't drive all the way up to Cambridge to hand me a case! Not when you tried so hard to get me to stay there in the first place."

"Sherlock, be reasonable," John tried. "We can find the smugglers and find your dad."

"This time last week he was nearly the British Government and we were two undergrads, now you want to hunt monsters?"

"Don't be overly dramatic," Mycroft said coolly.

John laughed. "I don't know. These kind of people are monsters of a type. They should be hunted."

"You need to make your mind up Mycroft, because maybe John will want to go back to uni but who says I will? Choose now, do I stay or do I go back to my education?"

Mycroft straightened his jacket, looked at his shoes, then looked back up at his brother. "Tell me you want to be there. Tell me you don't know more than your professors. Tell me you're not bored there, and I'll take you back right now. But you won't. You can't. This is what you were born for."

Sherlock glanced at his boyfriend. "And he was born to be a doctor. To be a great doctor and here he is with us because he met me!"

Mycroft didn't know where to look.

"'Lock…" John trailed off, but tried again. "I decided to be a doctor to help people. Doing this is helping people, don't you see?"

Sherlock started to reply, but there was a sudden clatter from the back of the building.

Sherlock didn't care what either of the other men had to say, he raced off.

"Sherlock!" The pair yelled simultaneously.

"Maybe he was right…" Mycroft whispered chasing after John.

John didn't understand his boyfriend. If Sherlock was so dead set against taking on a job, why the bloody hell had he run towards the noise. "Sherlock," he huffed under his breath as he ran, "when I catch you, I'm going to kill you, you long legged git."

It seemed towards the back of a building was an upstairs window. Whoever it was had obviously taken it, glancing out he saw Sherlock disappearing up the back garden… he clearly had too.

Mycroft went out the window without hesitation. John went through it, hung from the sill for a moment, then let go. Moments later, he was chasing after the Holmes brothers, pell-mell.

By the time John had caught them up in the woods at the bottom of the garden Sherlock was half way up a tree.

He bent over, resting his hands on his knees, catching his breath. "What... the fuck, Mycroft?" John looked up the tree.

"For once, I have no idea." Mycroft frowned as if the notion were particularly offensive.

The tree rustled and shook for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, Sherlock scrambled back down, a bag in hand.

"Who ran off?" John asked.

The detective shrugged. "Some teenager. They aren't important. They were just stealing from the place."

"That stuff?"

"I reckon he was paid to retrieve it." He began pulling items of clothing from the bag.

"Why would anyone bother with retrieving clothes?" John asked, mystified.

Sherlock grinned up at him. "Because of what the clothes say about the wearer."

Mycroft snatched up the pair of jeans and Sherlock examined the shoes.

"That can't be right," Sherlock said, looking between John and his brother.

"What is it?"

"The wearer of these shoes were children. Or two boys to be precise. There a size 3 but that is definitely a boy’s instep."

"Are you saying kids burnt out that house?" John asked, bewildered.

Mycroft shook his head. "Yes, but they answer to someone much older." He threw the jeans down, furious. "The kids are likely to be the most vulnerable ones, from broken homes. The at risk."

"Kids can't be responsible for smuggling though, surely?"

"No," Sherlock sniffed indignantly. "It appears I was wrong about that. I think it's theft."

John sighed. "Still, dragging kids into this." He wanted to punch something, hurt the people that were doing this.

Sherlock looked at his boyfriend. "Why do you care so much?"

"You've got to be kidding, right?" John was stuck in a state between anger and confusion.

"No."

"They're kids 'Lock!"

"And?"

"They should be playing football or video games. Maybe doing homework and fighting with their brother's and sister's, not committing crimes. If you don't care about them, pretend that you do!"

"Why? Would that help us find them?"

"No."

Mycroft intervened. "Sherlock, this is clearly what Dad wants us to sort out. A little compassion can't hurt."

The brunette looked at his boyfriend. "I'll... try."

"Good," John nodded for emphasis. "Now what do we do?"

The youngest Holmes didn't reply. He didn't know what they could do.

"'Lock?" John tried again.

"I don't see the reason to stay here. Dad was last seen half a mile away."

"Quite right." Mycroft looked around the area, not seeing anything of further interest. "So, we go there." He started walking, expecting the other two men to follow.

"So you agree with me then?"

"What? No," Mycroft looked over his shoulder. "But that is where the surveillance is. It might tell us what happened in here."

"The police would have checked it," John pointed out.

"The police are rubbish," Sherlock said quickly. "Mycroft we've got to find Dad."

"This case comes first!"

"No!"

Mycroft stalked over and grabbed him by the arms. "Have you forgotten what John said already? Think, 'Lock!"

Sherlock looked at his boyfriend's stricken face and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Fine. The case comes first. But then we find Dad."


End file.
